


Lies My Lover Told Me

by Glassdarkly



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 20:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4493823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glassdarkly/pseuds/Glassdarkly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies My Lover Told Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer of Giles Livejournal Comm 2015

Olivia: All the time you used to talk to me about witchcraft and darkness and the like - I just thought you were being pretentious.  
GILES: Oh I was. I was also right.  
Olivia: So everything you told me was true.  
GILES: Well no, um, I wasn't actually one of the original members of Pink Floyd. But the monster stuff, yes.  
Olivia: Scary.  
GILES: Too scary?  
Olivia: I don't know.  
Hush: BtVS season 4 

"Sorry I'm late. The traffic was a nightmare."

Olivia slid her jacket off her shoulders and settled into her seat.

"Oh dear, I thought it would have died down a little by this hour." 

Giles glanced at his watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. He'd just about given Olivia up and gone home, as most of the diner's customers had done quite some time ago.

The place was almost empty now - just themselves, a man on his own a few tables down, a young couple in the far corner, who were so wrapped up in each other they'd probably forgotten the time, and a tired looking waitress behind the counter whose face had visibly fallen when Olivia had walked through the door. 

"This is LA," Olivia reminded him. "The traffic never dies down." She frowned. "You look tired, Rupert." 

Giles wanted to say, "And you look bloody gorgeous." 

But it seemed too...familiar? After all, it had been a couple of years since he'd seen her, and their correspondence during that time had been irregular at best.

She did look bloody gorgeous, though, just as he remembered, from the top of her head with its crown of elaborate braids, to the tips of her toes poking out from delicate strappy sandals. 

"I am rather fatigued, it's true," Giles said, trying not to stare too hard at the smooth slant of cheekbones, and the plum-dark lower lip. "Things have been...well, frantic is a bit of an understatement."

He waited while the waitress poured Olivia's coffee then leaned forward across the table. 

"You, on the other hand, are a sight for sore eyes, Olivia, if you don't mind my saying." 

Olivia smiled - a little stiffly, Giles thought. 

"That's very sweet of you, Rupert." 

Her smile dropped away at once. 

"I saw on the TV news about Sunnydale. How awful. I had no idea a sinkhole could swallow an entire town like that. Are Buffy and her friends okay?"

Giles stared at her in surprise. _Sinkhole?_ Hadn't she received his email? Maybe it had been a mistake to entrust something so important to a machine? 

"Buffy's all right, thank you," he said, "but some of the others..." 

His throat felt tight suddenly. "That is..." he managed, before stuttering to a halt. 

He shut his eyes, as sense memories of the past few days overwhelmed him yet again. 

The smell of Robin Wood's blood caked his hands; the dust-filled air half-blinded him as he struggled out of the collapsing high school; the furious roar of the Hellmouth in its death throes was the only sound he could hear.

Five days later that sound was still a constant ringing in Giles's ears, and he'd begun to fear it always would be. 

Spike might be dead at last (and good riddance), but he'd still managed to have the last laugh, damn him. 

Giles opened his eyes, to see Olivia regarding him with some concern.

"Are you all right, Rupert?"

He tried to smile at her. "Yes, quite well, thank you, but some of the others...well, I'm afraid they weren't so lucky." 

"Oh?" Olivia fingered the turquoise beads around her neck, click-click-click through slender brown fingers. "I thought the town had been evacuated in time and no one was badly hurt?" 

If she had received his email, Giles thought, she clearly hadn't read it.

"Anya," he said. "You remember Xander's girlfriend, don't you? I'm afraid she...died. And there were others - most of them quite young. For instance, there was a girl called Amanda, who-"

"I had no idea." Olivia said, loudly, interrupting him. She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip. "I'm very sorry to hear it."

Her eyes had gone blank on him, Giles realised - what he'd once made the mistake of referring to as her 'Cleopatra look.' 

His heart sank. This reunion wasn't going how he'd imagined it. 

That had run more along the lines of him making light of his recent experiences with a sympathetic fellow Brit, who would understand that his self-deprecation masked years of terrible trauma, and who knew enough about supernatural matters not to think he'd lost his wits. 

But confronted with the closed look on Olivia's face, it was obvious that wasn't going to happen. 

Given the tenor of their last conversation in Sunnydale, Giles thought gloomily, after the Gentlemen incident, he'd been a fool to have expected otherwise.

Best to cut his losses and change the subject while he still could.

"So," Giles took a deep breath. "Tell me your news, Olivia. What have you been up to since we last met?" 

Olivia relaxed at once. "Things have been...pretty good, actually. My thesis was published. I did write and tell you, remember, but you never replied?"

"Oh, sorry." Giles had a vague memory of receiving a letter from her just as he'd embarked on his futile attempt to save the Watchers' Council from its own folly, which attempt had nearly ended with him losing his head.

Literally.

Needless to say, he hadn't had the chance to write back.

"There was a lot of interest," Olivia was saying, "particularly in my central premise about Seneca and Mithraism. I've been offered several research posts here in the US on the strength of it. Quite prestigious institutions."

"That's...that's wonderful," Giles managed, hoping he sounded sincere. 

"Yes, isn't it?" Olivia smiled again. "But I've decided not to take any of them."

"Oh?" Giles drank a mouthful of his own coffee (bitter, but preferable to the tea on offer). "Why ever not?"

Olivia shrugged. 

"The climate here's great and everything, but I miss London. Also, my mum says she's not getting any younger and if I don't come home and learn how to make proper Ghanaian jollof rice with chicken soon, it'll be too late and...." 

"...you'll never find a husband," Giles finished for her, smiling. They'd had this conversation before. 

Olivia frowned, and for a moment Giles was afraid she'd found his familiarity offensive. Then he realised she was looking over his shoulder, her gaze focused elsewhere. 

"Is everything..?" he began, but then Olivia seemed to shake herself. She met his eyes again.

"So," she said, as if the odd interlude had never happened, "I'm taking a post at your old stamping ground, Rupert, and going home."

"The British Museum? That's...well, that's very impressive," Giles exclaimed. "Not that you don't deserve it, of course, after all your hard work. Congratulations, Olivia. When are you leaving?" 

"In two days' time," Olivia said. "It's a good thing you called when you did, or you would have missed me altogether."

Giles cleared his throat. "Yes, that would have been a...a pity." He braced himself, unsure how she would react. "I daresay I would have caught up with you in the end, though. I'm heading back home soon myself." 

"Oh?" For a moment, Olivia looked dismayed, but then the carefully blank expression was back. "What about your...er, your work here?"

Giles turned his head away. He stared out through the plate glass windows of the diner onto the bustling street outside. Cars, bright lights, sirens almost loud enough to drown out the ringing in his ears. A typical Los Angeles street scene. 

He couldn't wait to shake the California dust off his feet.

When he turned back, he found Olivia once more looking over his shoulder, frowning again, obviously thinking about something other than him. When her attention came back to him, he gave her a pained smile. 

"My work here is finished. Buffy doesn't need me any more. She's moving abroad. To Italy, I believe."

"Oh," Olivia said, again. She opened her mouth, as if to ask a question, then seemed to think better of it. "Well, she's not a child. How old is she now? About twenty?"

"Twenty-two." 

"Then it's past time she broadened her horizons. Young people these days are so lazy. And you look like you could do with a rest."

"Probably." Giles wanted to protest that she knew perfectly well why Buffy had been unable to leave Sunnydale up to now. But what was the point? 

Olivia was in denial, as the Americans put it, and wouldn't thank him for trying to snap her out of it. 

Awkward silence fell between them. Olivia glanced at her watch. 

Any minute now, she'd be gone, Giles thought, and he would never see her again. He stared down at his empty coffee cup, feeling wretched. 

It was difficult enough making friends (or lovers) knowing what he knew, without those he already had turning against him.

Olivia's voice intruded on his reverie.

"I have to go, Rupert."

"Yes, of course."

Giles looked up, to find her leaning across the table towards him. 

"Well, it was nice to see you -" he began, but Olivia interrupted him, her voice dropped to a soft murmur.

"That man sitting three tables away is a vampire. I suppose we ought to do something about it."

Giles's jaw dropped. He couldn't have been more surprised than if she'd proposed marriage.

"I came prepared," Olivia said, opening her bag to show him a serviceable looking, and very sharp, wooden stake. "I expect you did too?"

The silence stretched out between them. At last, Giles managed to shake off the just-been-pole-axed feeling.

"As it happens," he admitted, in an apologetic tone, "that is...not really. I didn't think I'd need to."

Olivia's full lips adopted a disapproving pout. "At night, in LA? Rupert, are you kidding me?"

When Giles shook his head, she handed him the stake. "Here. You've probably had more practice." 

Giles took it, as if on autopilot.

"I'll distract him and you stake him from behind, okay?"Olivia said. "And let's make it quick. I really do have to go."

Still half numb with shock, Giles risked a glance over his shoulder at the supposed vampire. He was sitting with his back to them, staring out the window onto the street. In profile, he seemed an ordinary enough-looking fellow, if rather on the sallow side, and with a sour expression that could just as well have meant bad day at the office as evil soulless monster.

Giles frowned and turned back to Olivia. "Are you sure about this?"

Olivia's face was inscrutable again. All she said was, "Check the window."

Giles looked again. This time he took in that the man had no reflection in the glass. The table where he sat appeared unoccupied.

"Ah." Giles's heart seemed to turn over in his chest. Then he just felt tired. 

Was there no end to this? Ever?

At least he knew now what Olivia had been looking at when she'd seemed so distracted.

"That's very observant of you, Olivia," he said, "but I really think..."

But Olivia had risen to her feet. 

"Excuse me a moment, Rupert," she said, in a voice designed to carry. "I just need to powder my nose."

Before Giles could stop her, she'd tucked her bag under her arm, got to her feet and was heading towards the rest rooms.

Buffy, Giles thought. He had to call her at once. He felt in his pockets for his mobile phone, only to discover he'd left the dratted thing behind at his motel. Again. 

Olivia, meanwhile, had reached the vampire's table. 

As Giles watched, appalled, her bag slid from her grasp and onto the floor right by the vampire's foot. The vampire glanced up at her, then away again. It made no attempt to pick up the bag.

"Sorry to bother you," Olivia said, to the vampire, "but would you mind awfully?" She smiled an apologetic smile and indicated her bag. 

The vampire looked up again. It grinned unpleasantly. 

"Yeah," it said. "I would mind. Awfully." Its foot lashed out and kicked the bag further under the table. "Oops!"

Olivia jumped at the sudden movement. Then she frowned. "Give that back."

The vampire grinned again. Its face rippled and changed, becoming hideous and yellow-eyed. 

A monster.

"Make me."

Giles barely heard Olivia's horrified gasp over the sound of his own heart beating nineteen to the dozen. The sheer terror on her face was plain to see, though, and not feigned in any way.

She opened her mouth to scream, but the vampire was on its feet in an instant, grabbing her hand by the wrist and twisting so hard, Giles heard bones cracking. 

"Let me go, you bastard!" Olivia's long nails raked down the vampire's cheek, drawing parallel trails of blood. 

"You don't wanna do that," the vampire lisped, while slaver dripped from its fangs. It leaned closer, nuzzling at her neck.

Which was fortunate, Giles told himself later, because that meant it didn't see him coming. 

"Nor do you," Giles said, through gritted teeth as he plunged the stake as hard as he could into the vampire's back, angling upwards, seeking the heart.

"Wha...?" The vampire let go of Olivia and wheeled on Giles, but it was turning to dust even as clawed fingers flailed in his direction. 

"Fuck," it said, crossly. Then it was gone in a choking, grey explosion.

Giles coughed, then waved his hand to clear the air before he swallowed more dust. 

When he could see again, he glanced quickly around the diner to gage the reactions of its other occupants. Only the waitress was looking in their direction, but she turned away quickly when she saw Giles looking. 

Possibly, Giles thought, this happened here a lot.

He turned back to Olivia. 

"Good God, woman, do you realise how dangerous that was? Not to mention foolhardy? What if I hadn't got the heart first time? It might have killed you on the spot." 

Olivia didn't reply. Instead, she stared at him stone-faced, as if she hated him. Then she bent down to retrieve her bag from under the table and disappeared into the rest rooms. 

Shaken, Giles struggled to compose himself. 

What had just happened?

After a moment, because there was nothing else to be done, he returned to their table. Olivia had left her jacket there, he told himself. She would have to come back for it.

He sat, turning the stake over and over in his hands. 

Five minutes passed. Six. The waitress came by to ask if they wanted more coffee.

Giles managed to smile at her. "No, thank you."

The waitress turned to go, hesitated, then turned back again.

"Just wanted to say thanks a bunch for getting rid of Jerry." She motioned with the coffee pot towards the stake in Giles's hands. "He was a real mean tipper. In fact, he was just real mean all over."

"Oh." Giles blinked at her. "Please don't mention it."

He barely noticed when she exclaimed over his accent, and was only dimly aware of her walking away again.

Still no sign of Olivia. Had she left by a back entrance? 

Just as he was on the point of going to look for her, Olivia marched back out of the rest room, letting the door slam shut behind her. Her face was still composed and blank, but Giles noted that her hands were shaking.

She walked straight past their table, grabbing her jacket in passing, then made towards the door to the street.

Giles watched her walking out of his life forever.

"Won't you at least tell me why?" he said, to her stiff back. 

To his surprise, she stopped suddenly. For a moment, she stood still, facing away from him, as if at war with herself. Then her shoulders slumped, and she turned around. Her face looked resigned now, rather than angry.

"We've been friends for a long time," she said. "I owe you that much." 

She sat down opposite him again. "Even if you did lie to me about the Pink Floyd thing."

She half-smiled as she said it, and Giles found himself smiling back from sheer relief. 

"Yes, that was wrong of me. I apologise."

"It's all right," Olivia said. "I never believed it anyway."

"Ah." Giles grimaced. "It was a bit of a stretch, I suppose."

"Not at all," Olivia said. "You were very convincing."

Clasping her hands together, she shut her eyes and took a deep breath, as if to compose herself. When she looked up, her dark eyes were softer than before. Almost sad.

"The thing is, though," she said, "I didn't believe any of it. Everything you told me back then - Pink Floyd, monsters, things that go bump in the night - I thought you were saying it all just to impress me."

"Being pretentious, yes, I remember." Giles smiled at her. He wondered if he dared reach out and take one of her small hands in his.

But before he could even attempt it, Olivia unclasped her fingers. Her hands dropped out of sight under the table.

"But then... _that_ happened in Sunnydale - when we lost our voices, and those awful monsters." Olivia shuddered at the memory. "That was when I realised, apart from the Pink Floyd rubbish, you'd never lied to me. Not once."

"Well...no." Giles frowned. He had no idea where she was going with this.

Olivia took another deep breath. "But the thing is, I _want_ you to have lied to me. I want it so much I dream about it at night - you admitting that it was all nonsense." She shuddered again. "What I _don't_ want is to know anything about...this." 

And she indicated the wooden stake now lying on the table between them.

Well, Giles thought, at least that explained her reaction to his email. She'd read it, then decided to ignore it.

Then again...

He stared at her, perplexed. "But you had a stake in your bag. _You_ told _me_ about that vampire. And approaching it the way you did was very, very dangerous. I hope you don't make a habit of it?"

Olivia had wrapped her arms about herself. Her face was wan and strained.

"I try not to, but if I see one, I find I can't just ignore it. I only wish I could. But I have to do _something_. Because I know, and they -" she inclined her head at the young couple still in the far corner, who had indeed seemed oblivious-"well, they don't." 

Giles's perplexity turned to horror. "For God's sake, Olivia. You're not a Slayer. You're going to get yourself killed."

"Probably." Her eyes narrowed. She was getting angry again. "And if I do, it'll be your fault." 

"That's..."

Giles had been going to say, "That's unfair," but he stopped himself. It might be unfair, he thought, but there was some truth in it.

There were reasons why the Watchers' Council had always been so secretive. Some bad, but some - like protecting civilians from knowledge that might distress them - very sound indeed.

"I'm sorry," Giles said. He didn't know what else to say.

Olivia had stopped hugging herself and was putting her jacket on.

"That's why I'm really going home. The job offer is nice, but I don't care about it. My thesis is all nonsense anyway. Mithras was probably just some jumped-up demon nobody, wasn't he?" 

"I...I don't..."Giles began, but Olivia wasn't listening. Her gaze had gone distant again. 

"Wherever I go in this town," she said, "I see vampires and monsters. They're everywhere. I can't stand being around them any longer." 

She froze with one arm half into her jacket. "Unless..."

"Unless what?" But Giles had a feeling he knew what she was going to say. 

Sure enough... 

"...you're going to tell me there are vampires in London too?"

Her eyes seemed to plead with him to say there weren't. 

Giles took off his glasses. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he began to polish them. 

"I'm not going to tell you that." He put his glasses back on. "I'm not going to tell you anything at all, except that there's hope in the world now. Buffy's no longer the only Slayer. Also, you won't be needing this any more."

But, when he made to pick up the stake and stow it away in his jacket pocket, Olivia was too quick for him. 

"I'll be the judge of that," she said, as she put the stake back into her bag. Her expression seemed to scream, "Liar."

Giles frowned, but she just stared at him with a defiant look on her face, and after a moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Short of engaging in an undignified wrestling match, in which he was bound to come off worst, what else could he do?

He'd damaged her enough already.

"I'm sorry," he said, again, while his mind raced, trying to decide which of the junior Slayers could best be trusted to keep a discreet eye on her. 

Olivia, meanwhile, had got to her feet. She tucked her bag firmly under her arm.

"I'm sorry too, Rupert. I really am," she said. "But if you do come home, stay away from me."

Then she was going again, and this time, she didn't look back.

Sometimes, Giles thought, it's best not to.


End file.
